Conversation with a Mosquito- Part 2

Looking towards the horizon, where night was slowly getting into its full rights, I turned to my new friend and asked, ‘Why aren’t you afraid of me?’

‘You wonder!’ the reply came, to which I could only laugh.

‘You do have a sense of humour.’

‘If sucking blood was your profession, you would too.’

Hilarious, this mosquito. Reaching for the peach, I thought that indeed the profession must be hard. Every sound you make is annoying, your touch, even more so. The second one catches sight of you, they’re already irritated.

Taking a bite from the perfectly ripe fruit, I appreciated how its sweetness complemented the wine’s saltiness. This mosquito and I did have some things in common, I must say.

‘You call it profession. How come? I thought it to be necessity. Did you always know it was your calling then?’

‘Humans. So curious! So full of themselves!’ the mosquito scoffed.

‘Professions, necessities, callings, fears… This is your problem- thinking too much. I just exist. What I do, I do. I couldn’t care less if my appearance, voice or touch is more than you silly creatures can take.’

‘I take it the wine is to your liking too,’ I said more as a note to my silly self.

There is some truth in his words though. Maybe I do think too much. Just exist. But how? Have I ever? There must have been brief moments of existence. They were, I can recall. Thinking of them, I realise they might have come out of spite too. But sweet, sweet existence it was. If only I could stop thinking about them for a heartbeat, perhaps just being would align with my timeline again!

‘How to exist?’ I heard myself asking.

To be continued.

Conversation with a Mosquito- Part 1

One evening, a day or two back, I had an interesting encounter. 

The day had been long and I was just about to turn to the pleasurable part of it. With a glass of the driest white wine I could find in my hand, I sat on the balcony admiring the pinks of the Greek sun drowning in the depths of the Libyan Sea. 

Endorphins were still pumping in my blood stream after what had been a surprisingly satisfying run. With a plum, a peach and some caju by my side and the wind effectively drying my hair I asked AI why one of my eyes would start twitching towards the end of my runs. Agreeing it was either a matter of dehydration or a lack of minerals I took another sip of wine. While pondering whether my drink’s significant minerality would do the job or I’d have to buy some electrolytes I spotted a mosquito quietly landing on the wall next to me. Had it not noticed the tons of insect repellent particles I use as perfume during summer? Well, it did keep some sort of safe distance. Slowly, I reached for the plum lying on the table, to test the borders of our personal space. No reaction. Cool! ‘What a chill fella!‘ ‘Should I be worried or what?’, I seemed to hear. Wondering whether I had to urgently address the subject of dehydration before getting a heat stroke or something, I took another sip of wine. ‘The minerality of this Sauvignon- divine!’, I couldn’t help saying, to which the mosquito replied ‘Not like I’m a great connoisseur, but I do prefer an honest port or at least a Muscat.’ This conversation had to be continued. When else would I find someone sensible enough to choose just the right moment to jump into a conversation? Maybe I waited for my whole life for this mosquito! 

I went into the room and brought another glass out. Pouring some wine into it, I said ‘Sorry it’s so dry, but it’s all I got.’ ‘No worries, I’ve had enough sweet shit today.’

I started to seriously consider taking another brief shower to wash away the tons of repellent… 

To be continued.

Journey of a heart

One time, not long ago, when days were hot and hearts were too, the road ahead got blurred and was eventually lost. Thirst was intense. The wish to see a way ahead even more. But the thing about wishes is that they have their own laws.

Most of us want things or achievements, or basically anything which would keep us going and bring some sort of satisfaction when pocketed. What if you no longer know what you want? Some would say you’re privileged to have so much free time and energy as to reflect on it. Perhaps. But then, it’s not like you have to apologize for it.

Tired of wishing for things and achievements, a naive heart wished for justice. Honour for the righteous and punishment for the villains! Haha! Indeed.

Heart became sour. Crying over its lost innocence, the world around lost colour and appeal. Finding yourself in places which don’t represent your values and ideas, it’s inevitable that you’d ask yourself how come you got there. And then you ask yourself why to continue? Because a clear, green road might show itself around some corner? Because a like-minded soul might come roaming across your blur? If only the blur would go to hell! People too and the world altogether. Wishes. Laws.

Sour heart wished for silence. To quiet the voices of spirit and mind. Achieving that is not too complicated- body helps. Distract or tire it and there it comes- your silence.

Silenced heart asked itself what world without words was. Just imagine it. Nothingness. Heart discovered the infinity of nothingness. An ocean of it which you can only smile at. So it smiled.

 

The Ascent

Six steps up and I stop to catch my breath. It would have been better to start earlier. It’s already too hot for this ascent.

I take my headphones off- they’re not silencing my thoughts anyway. Placing them in the old backpack I’ve been carrying around since like forever, I take six steps more. I can do it. Having difficulties keeping my breakfast in and the voices in my head out, I wonder whether that yogurt was the most inspired choice. One step follows the other. Why am I here alone? There are 9 kilometres of steep footpath ahead to find an answer.

Feeling every new movement I make in the gut, I understand I must sit and take a rest. Seeking for some shade under a bush, I take a sip of water. Looking around, I see no living being, just a small village somewhere down. There’s only silence surrounding me. It must be about an hour or so ago I have started my ascent from that little house. The phone shows no reception. I doubt there’ll be one any time soon. Not that I wait for anyone to look for me, do I? The GPS says 8,9 kilometres to go. I must continue. Standing up, I take a few more steps. Drops of sweat caress my forehead. It’s almost as they whisper, ‘Let go, it’ll be fine’. I want to believe them. However, my stomach gets ahead. Relief.

Perhaps I should return. There is no point in this hike. My body isn’t feeling ideal. I stop to look down at the village and take another sip of water. I can return anytime. The path back is clear- I’m still not that far. Let’s continue for a while longer. And I walk.

There’s a light headiness for which I’m not sure whom to blame- the increasing height, my stomach going rogue, the heat, or perhaps my not being used to this complete silence. The thing about such uncertain states is that one can either ignore or investigate them. As I have spent enough time doing the first, I want to choose the latter. Going on about life on a sort of an autopilot while drifting towards alternative realities isn’t something new to me, just a thing long forgotten. And so, I walk.

The mountain is beautiful. All these shades of green are joy to my eyes. I remember the small settlement at the very top of the mountain. Right, I have already been there, though it was a completely different path that I took. Back then, I started from the top, looking for the route down to the village. I failed to find it and experienced things which might deserve a story of their own. Perhaps there will be a time for that too. Back to the settlement. It was rather a few abandoned houses- 3 or 4 and an inhabited one- painted in bright orange, with what I identified as a radio joyously disturbing the silence. I remember wondering how they built it there. The nearest road accessible by car was more than an hour walk away. They couldn’t have carried all the materials so far. Perhaps they brought them by helicopter… I wonder who lives there. Would be interesting to meet them. I could knock at the door, but then, they went through all this trouble only to live alone on a mountain’s peek, not to be disturbed by strangers. 

Right, now that we know where I wanted to return- back to my ascent. The route was difficult; I had to stop every few minutes to catch my breath while my heart was pumping like crazy. At a point, while taking yet another rest and being very close to convincing myself return, I suddenly saw a man approaching. He smiled, greeted me and hurriedly continued his way up. I wasn’t so surprised to meet anyone else doing the same hike, it was rather his pace which stunned me. He couldn’t have been younger than 60. Then I knew that I couldn’t return. I also felt more secure. We always do when not alone, don’t we? And so, I walked.

My ascent continued in a different way from then on. I was pushing myself harder. This spirit of competitivity… Is it a trait specific for chess players? I guess it is something all sportspeople must have. It is unclear though what was I trying to prove and to whom? Maybe that man was doing such ascents all his life, or maybe I was just in such bad shape that anyone could overpass me. Why did it matter? Maybe it’s because we are so used to comparing ourselves to people we meet on our path. We weigh what and how we did and what was that they did to be in the same place and time as we are. Perhaps that’s a normal way of assessing and pushing ourselves towards progress. Though, is this really the sole purpose of those encounters?

Anyhow, from then on, the drops of sweat stopped talking to me despite the rate at which they accumulated increased exponentially. By the time I reached the summit, I could easily drown any thoughts just by squeezing my top. Getting up there made me so happy! I did it! Making a few more steps, I saw that man resting on a rock while peeling an orange. I decided to continue for a while longer and I did not stop until I reached the painted house. Taking shelter from the burning sun in a small cave nearby, I sat on a log, took some gulps of water and admired the view. The greens, greys and browns of the mountain intertwined so perfectly with the blues of the sky and ocean! I wish I could live there. Tears started building up in my eyes and I felt both happiness and sadness. I was happy to be there and sad not to be.

Thirties' Eulogy

This moment has found me in great mood, wearing my newly acquired pink jumper while sipping from a matcha by an airport window.

The day started slightly differently though, with a numb headache accompanied by chamomile tea and porridge for breakfast. In my defence, I’m still not used to the side effects of going out. It was only some years ago when I could easily even play a morning game after a night out. But things really do change at 30. Don’t get me wrong, there are not only bad things happening when entering the 4th decade.

You’re more confident, even after making a draw vs a 10 yo or after playing only against one older opponent out of the 9 rounds.

You get more respect, like two nights ago when I knocked on the neighbouring hotel room door asking them to keep the noise down and a 15 yo kid looked at me in complete terror and said ‘Sure, sorry Ma’am.’  I was so surprised by his reaction that when I returned to my room I checked how I looked in the mirror. I didn’t see anything terrifying, but who knows, maybe my assessing skills got rusty with age. By the way, there were no noises at all for the rest of the night.

What other good things are there at 30? Ah, one earns more! In this tournament for example I became richer by almost 100 euros for my 9^th place - not bad for 10 days of work.

One also gets healthier habits. I only skipped breakfast once here. Not that I have any serious stomach issues, yet, but when you only have the breakfast covered and the probability you play well and win the coveted hundred bill is not too high- you use that thinking skills you’re supposed to possess and go eat breakfast.

Relationships are better in your thirties too. You know a lot of interesting people to whom you show affection by avoiding them by all means because the memory of the last morning filled with side effects is still fresh. Good thing is that recollection becomes less reliable at this age, so you don’t have to wait too long for that memory to vanish like it never even existed. I’m sure that in a few weeks, ok, ok, let’s be honest- days, I’ll completely forget how this morning started.

Let me think, what other good things are there?

Ode to Singularity

Singularity. A term which was as familiar as distant to me as it could only be.

When I first had the idea of writing a text with such title, a month or so ago, I had a completely different thing imagined. I was enjoying some ‘me’ time while reflecting on the pointless nature of life. The setting must have had it’s say too. A freezing walk through a charming old town of a city I’ve never been to before, an unexpected stop at an underground pub, and some whisky menu with prices I was more than willing to pay. How long it’s been since the last time I took a flight of stairs down to enter this obscure place with filthy tabletops and basses whispering to one’s soul- an eternity! Proof of the ephemeral nature of time served my being almost the oldest breathing object there. After ordering some Scottish liquor to a much too young and much too knowledgeable bartender, I trusted her enough to surrender my phone under the reasonable pretense of charging.

Back to my table, I proceeded with enjoying the Highlander’s company. How good it felt to disconnect! Just the thought of no living soul being able to reach me made my blood slowly start warming, though not enough to convince me take my glovelettes off. I began wondering, how come I didn’t feel any guilt at all for feeling so happy, there. Somewhere around that time I heard a call. It was coming from within- a word’s call. “I’m ‘singularity’, please love and cherish.”

Singularity you say. Must be a fancy way of expressing the state of being alone. “It must be what I am and feel right now”, I thought. Please I can, love I could and cherish if must. Who’d imagine the depth of my being wrong and right at the same time?

In the coming weeks, while trying to make my way through what singularity actually meant, I have read and watched different materials. At times it appeared that I understood exactly what that was. Other times, I felt lost, like I got it, but I still wouldn’t exactly be able to say how come. It became a small obsession I was determined to get to the bottom of. Between bothering friends, AI, peeks of mountains and bottles of wine in search of a satisfactory answer, I concluded that the closest I was to truth was at the beginning.

That flight of stairs opened Pandora’s box, teleporting me into those times when happiness was as simple as that, when meaning was as tangible as a glass of cheap liquor. As dividing by 0 is undefined in mathematics because there are no such numbers which multiplied by zero would produce a non-zero dividend, we follow this law too, dividing our time, our lives and ourselves by something different than zero. Singularity can mean a whole lots of things. What I have just described in mathematics is one example. Applied to physics, it is the moment when gravity and density become so strong that physical laws break down, as for example in the centre of black holes. Regarding AI, singularity is a point where artificial intelligence surpasses human intelligence leading to uncontrollable and irreversible technological growth.

Now back to the underground bar, filthy table and gravitational liquors. Applied to me, singularity isn’t something intelligent enough to need surpassing. To start the loop I only needed to take a flight of stairs down. But that’s not all. I am lying.